Science fiction. Fantasy. The universe. And related subjects.

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We know authors don’t spend all their time locked in a room, obsessing over syntax. Some of the best writing comes from not writing at all—from having a completely unrelated specialty, like beekeeping or robotics. Since 2015, we’ve asked SFF authors to geek out about the hobbies and callings that fill their lives when they’re not writing our favorite stories. Some are more physical, like auto repair or falling or riding rollercoasters; others are more in the mind, like mastering the scent science of perfume or applying godlike qualities to The Beatles or taking in a perfect fire you’ve created. Read through our best “And Related Subjects” essays (so far) for some valuable lessons from SFF authors that have very little to do with writing.

It is a primeval, dirty, laborious act, one borne from a time when people had few resources but lots of time—in stark contrast to today, when we have lots of resources but little time. For that reason alone, I enjoy it.

So I propose we all try to get in touch with that primal, ancestral storyteller within. For me, it happens around my charcoal grill. I must confess, I’ve made some lousy meals—dried out chicken, overcooked steak—because I lingered too long. Because I just wanted to hang around outside by the grill, smelling the charcoal and thinking about my next story. Getting to know some new character. Wondering where we’d all end up together.

The mere thought of sitting inside an open metal box as it hurtles at incredible speed from impossible heights sends chills of excitement up and down my spine. It ROCKS! Just can’t get enough of it. And the rides just keep getting better and better.

Around the time I was writing this short story, I had lunch with my editor. As we finished the meal, she pulled out a tiny drawstring bag. Inside was a brown glass bottle, filled with a custom perfume based on one I had invented for Amberlough: vetiver, lemons, diesel, and burnt wood. I had been avoiding citrus—too bright and usually too sweet—but the smokiness of this scent toned it down and darkened it. It’s my go-to now for evening author events: a little piece of fiction to wear against my skin.

Poker, I discovered, is sort of a sit-down version of fencing. Bets are feints and disengages and lunges and stop-thrusts, and merely having the best cards is no more a guarantee of winning than having a longer reach with your weapon arm.

This was not just auto repair the three-to-five of us practiced. This was science in its purest form, carried out in frozen garages and smoky living rooms by people who had conviction and creativity in the absence of a clue or a budget.

The fighting was fierce and the bruises were commonplace—and nobody whinged when they got them (usually, they were offered up as badges round the night’s campfire). We made friends all across the UK, people with like-minded interests and senses of humor, people we could fight with, drink with and sing with, and look forward to seeing again for the next meeting.

There is a wonderful sense of community that comes with learning something that is set to music and requires teamwork… When we collided we laughed, and when we finally got the dance right, we whooped and high-fived each other.